Choice Words
by Niten
Summary: So many words, but sometimes only a select few will actually work. A tribute to the Dorothy that people tend to overlook


Here's another little unedited burble of a fic dedicated to one of my favorite animes. I kind of spewed this out as a form of brain-drain before a philosophy class, so that I can really test myself on what I've truly retained. It's not a form of study I'd recommend, but the tour-de-force that is my "muse" sort of threatened to bitch-slap me if I didn't write _something_ soon, and I'm stuck on my latest original piece…

This one is for the part of Dorothy people have a tendency to overlook, but is just as much "Dorothy" as the part people want to see.

A few things I'd like to point out before the actual body of the fic:

I don't own any aspect of Big O, and the characters, names, and elements of

this story are used without permission of Bandai and whatever bureaucracy of demon Nazi's they serve.

There's a good chance they won't like that commentary, but too bad.

This fic was written in a matter of about 3-4 hours that served as something of a break from studying. It is in rough-draft format, and I'm too lazy and impatient to wait for proper feedback from the few prereaders I have kept over time. Besides, they don't really know or care for the finer aspects of this series, so their help would've only been marginal.

Yeah, the last part is kinda weak. Too bad.

_Constructive_ or _Deconstructive_ criticism is always welcome. If you love it, take the time to tell me why. If you hate it, tear it apart before you burn it.

I sincerely appreciate you guys' reading, despite the fact that I come across otherwise as a jerk. You guys are what keep this ball rolling.

**"Choice Words" **by Avarice (formerly)

It stood large and ominous in the shape of man, who was its creator; a sentinel, an invader, a savior, a destroyer… Uneven lighting in the hangar served only to accent its dark features, which were cast in the virtues and shaped by the sins of mankind. It stood as a monument to human perseverance and nihilism.

The megadeus.

Had the plans for each and every type of megadeus not been stored in her core database, Dorothy would have taken the time to commit each and every specification for the giant weapon; from the torque specifications on the nuts and bolts to the exact components to the "black box" that housed its power source. There was nothing she did not know about the megadeus in any of its forms.

That is except for the current structure of the personality. The pseudo-AI that ran all the semi-sentient machines in Paradigm all started off as basic algorithms that were given the capacity to interact with sentient beings and evolve behavior patterns accordingly. Its complexity made its potential vast; almost as infinitely adaptable—and simultaneously stubborn—as human beings. The megadeus' in particular had complex personality cores, making them even more quirky than even the most sophisticated androids.

Dorothy's own personality was based on that of the megadeus', though even more complex. The few other androids she had come into contact with had done little to impress her—their capacity for fully understanding humans was a far cry from her own. Even Instro, who had been a relatively innovative and ingenious creation, had taken decades to learn what he knew, and Dorothy had assimilated all of his data in a matter of seconds without his having even known of her brief intrusion into his memory.

In the end, she could not relate to them. She appreciated their presence and their existence as archetypes, but she could not relate to them on anything but a surface level. They did not understand the types of questions she asked, their binary cores severely hampering their capabilities to understand the true complexity of the human mind. So, she turned to the only other machine that she could think of as being able to understand.

The megadeus.

It was late in the Smith household. The two human constituents were asleep in the upper floors of the building, and so Dorothy was relatively alone with the impossibly large sentient. Privacy was hardly a necessity, as she could communicate with the megadeus by means that humans could only interpret through the use of a transmitter, but she herself preferred speaking. Even though she was aware that she was merely emulating, by limiting herself as they were limited it helped her better understand them.

"Hello," she said, her voice more a held note of music than a monotone.

A burst of information streamed at her through the air that could be compared to a flood. There was no flicker or flashing of lights from the large machine; truly no physical activity that was evident, even to her sharpened senses. Yet it had sent an entire week's worth of conversation. It would have taken her only a few nanoseconds to process entirely, but, as always, she broke it down into words that a human could understand.

"Yes, it has been quite awhile," she replied, deciding to take that course of conversation. "The both of us have been through quite a bit."

This time the proverbial dam did not break, and the transmission was much smaller, simpler, though still numbers and bits of data that Dorothy had to translate. There were no words so much as an attempt at mathematical equivocation towards an emotion. The megadeus seemed, as it always was, amused by her antics. The machine was much older than her, and had evolved several things that she had yet to develop—a sense of irony and the means to express it was one of those.

She wondered if perhaps she herself had developed a sense of jealousy. The sensation was akin to the one she felt whenever the sentient—she refused to refer to that one as "human"—Casseey Jenkins came within a significant proximity to either Roger or the Smith household. The context surrounding either situation seemed to fit in the metaphorical shoe.

"I have come with a question." She waited the amount of time she would as though she were dealing with Roger or Norman, despite the speed with which the affirmation had come. "Perhaps you should not so readily agree. It involves your relation with Roger."

There was a significant pause, though whether truly contemplative or for the sake of drama, Dorothy was not certain. An identical burst ensued, permitting her to continue.

Now it was her turn to pause. Words were awkward things, and sometimes it took her longer than she would like to properly formulate them so as to make her point clear. "The path you lead him down is…ambiguous. I would inquire as to your intent; salvation or destruction? Your kind is certainly capable of the latter, and leads me to question your capacity for the former."

This time there was no pause, surprisingly enough. The data stream was one that formed into a counter-query.

Here she hesitated yet again; this was unexpected. Despite the fact that the 'Big' had a tendency to answer a question with a question, it was always unanticipated. And while she always had some quip to give Roger, or a ready response for Norman, the questions posed by the megadeus always seemed to make her reflect on her own motives; something that only this older, wiser machine could make her do.

She decided. "In regards to him specifically. Paradigm…is of little consequence to me."

Another question, this one rhetorical, followed by a dramatic expression of forlorn. Such displays always made her question precisely how old this machine was. Perhaps the blueprints she possessed on the personality structure of the machines were outdated? It was possible. She could ask, and she had little doubt the semi-sentient would reply truthfully, yet somehow it seemed inappropriate. And perhaps it was something better left unresolved.

It made its reply, which was considerably less complex than she had surmised.

"But…that hardly seems…" she was truly at a loss, unable to comprehend, yet somehow it made perfect sense.

An accusatory statement, though not harsh. Perhaps…indicative…would be a more appropriate term? In either case, it was profound, absurd, preposterous…

True.

Had she been human, she might have began to teeter at the force with which the revelation struck her. Being an android, she merely maintained her footing, and inspected the mask of the megadeus, looking for a flicker…something that would make the corporeal seem at least as human as the abstract obviously was.

She no longer had any desire for an exchange with the machine; not that it had said something to offend so much as it had proverbially "opened her eyes." A sudden longing for the rooftop was present. "I…must consider this. I thank you for your time."

The megadeus made no reply. The hangar was lifelessly still again.

Dorothy did not get hot or cold, but she always welcomed the temperature drop that came with her stepping out onto the balcony. Perhaps it was something her father had programmed into her—a memory he had of his Dorothy Wayneright. It was equally probably that the preference was entirely her own. She made her way to her favorite post, balanced neatly on the upcropping that served as the border between people standing on the roof and the certain-death fall that lie just beyond.

She pondered what the megadeus had relayed to her, replacing the interchangeable words with synonym after synonym, attempting to find a definitive meaning. What had it meant exactly…?

Her eyes drifted upward. By a simple process of filtering and refocusing she could see beyond the thick, omnipresent layer of clouds that stood between Paradigm and reality. She never pondered its existence, though. It was irrelevant. What mattered was—

The sound of the glass door sliding gently open interrupted her reverie—another human idiosyncrasy she indulged in when time permitted. She did not need to look to see who it was; the leisurely way the door was open and shut, the childishly careless footsteps and the unrestrained rhythm of breathing told her precisely who it was.

"Dorothy?" he asked, his tone relaying his fatigue and the fact that he was suffering some sort of physical duress—perhaps the precursor to a "hangover" from the alcohol he had consumed earlier in the evening. "You're up late."

One of her algorithms chirped into the forefront of her consciousness. It was by far her favorite, and only he ever seemed to make it dance. She had noticed that it only came into play when he thoughtlessly personified her—the instances he forgot that she was not human. If only the simple act of forgetting was enough…

"Roger," she sang in that single, elongated note. The way his name sounded when vocalized was pleasing. There was nothing else to attach to the word—not yet. She had learned it better to let him break the ice, or else he tended to go on the defensive.

He moved close, and he was suddenly there at her side, slightly closer than the respectful distance he always seemed to keep between them. His hair was mussed from a restless sleep, and his frame was hidden beneath the folds of his thick black robe. Her olfactory receptors could smell the mix of sweat and oil his body had secreted while he had tried to sleep off the alcohol. The only two senses she could not utilize to gain more input were the ones that tantalized her most often: taste and touch.

"Troubles…err…resting?" he inquired.

_He is more aware now_, she noted, and recalled the mathematics she had detected from the megadeus earlier, and felt the wry humor of the situation. Still, she liked how he had awkwardly made an attempt to sound consistent.

"Not really," she stated.

"How fortunate for you," he said, wiping a hand over his face wearily. He folded his arms on the upcropping and leaned on them, his eyes scanning the city—his city.

There was a moment of silence, and Dorothy almost asked the question that was swirling in her mind when he continued. "Is…this what you do at night? I sometimes…well, you know…forget. It must…" he groaned in frustration and hung his head. He picked it up after a second and continued his survey. "This is awkward."

"Yes," she agreed. She examined him closely, zooming in so that he was all she saw.

It took him a little time, but he finally found the words. "Dorothy, do you ever get bored? You know…tired of the same old thing day in and day out?"

A strange inquiry, but somehow she got the hint that it would lead to some sort of development, so she decided to follow the presented course before asking her own question. "I do not think so. Each day is different, so then each activity is different, despite the fact that it is conceptually the same. I dust and sweep the floor every day, and while it is the same shelves and floor, the dust is not the same, nor are the surrounding activities."

He slowly closed his eyes, and for a brief instant she thought he would make some scathing remark about android "philosophy." She thought she perceived the faint twitching in his facial muscles that always preceded such commentary, but it turned out not to be the case. Had she imagined it? Was such a thing possible?

"That's an interesting point you make, but I don't know that it works in my case. I don't think like that."

The conversation was about him, then? She replotted her prediction for the course the conversation was likely to go accordingly. "Are you tired of negotiating?"

Roger laughed abruptly, and Dorothy, as always, was at a loss as to where he had found humor in what she had asked. One of his hands lifted to rub his eyes, and he chuckled. "No, that's not it. It's not the actual activity of each day I find redundant. Perhaps…" he looked up and seemed to focus on something in the distance.

Dorothy examined his line of sight and calculated its destination and turned her own eyes accordingly. There was only an old water tower with nothing of note. For a moment she was at a loss, before she remembered his tendency to "stare" at nothing when he was out on the roof. "Roger," she sang again, precisely as she had earlier.

He made a sound that was not quite a "Hmm?" and was not exactly a grunt.

She took that as an indication to continue. "Why do you pilot the megadeus?"

His eyes and head snapped so that he was looking directly at her. Such a reaction would have been more appropriate if she had slapped him in the face. Had she touched on a sensitive subject? For a moment she thought she had seen fear in his eyes, followed by uncertainty; as though he had seen someone else in her, and it had frightened him. That thought did not settle well with her at all.

A moment passed, and he relaxed. He resumed his earlier posture of leaning on his arms. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she replied, calculating her timing so as not to sound evasive. Suddenly she thought perhaps feigning sleep and working the problem out on her own a more appealing route.

There was a long, heavy pause—no, a moment of silence. The issue had been dropped. She felt a twinge of disappointment, a sensation with which she _was_ familiar. The meaning of the megadeus' riddle would remain unresolved.

He pushed off the upcropping and turned slowly back towards the door. His shuffle was telltale of his fatigue, which seemed to have increased noticeably from his earlier approach. A surge of…guilt?...made itself known to her, and she found herself wanting to unask the question. She did not turn to watch him leave.

The sound of the door sliding open was audible, and the android—yes, that was what she was—closed its optical sensors. It would not indulge itself in questioning what passed as an illusion for sentient motives. It existed for no reason other than to bend to the wills of the humans that were responsible for its creation—

"Dorothy?" he asked, having stepped into the threshold of the penthouse.

_Dorothy_. Yes, that was the identification it had been given to associate itself with. But it did not deserve such a dubbing.

"Would you play Instro's song for me? I'd…like to hear you play. It'd help me sleep."

She actually blinked. He_ wanted_ to hear her play? She pushed the void-like persona of the machine away, and turned wordlessly towards the man. Gracefully she made her way to the door, her lithe feet and legs carrying her impossible weight effortlessly.

Was this what the words of the megadeus had described? She sat at the piano, conscientiously adjusting the placement of her skirts as she did so. Carefully her fingers began to dance across the keyboard, and she cast a glance at the man with the black hair and black eyes lying on the black couch, his head on a black pillow and his body covered in a black robe and pants.

"_I do what I do for him out of love for him, even as you do what you do out of love for him." _

_Love…_ she mused, turning her eyes back to the ivory and black keys. Perhaps things were that simple.

----Checkered Flag----

That's all I wrote, people.

Now I'll be branded and crucified for writing this without finishing this other piece I've had on the burner for like two months now.

If you've anything you want to ask specifically, feel free to email me at the one displayed on this rig, or you _might_ be able to catch me on my AIM thingie. I go by "Magicbushmonster".

…yeah, there's a story to that one…

Now remember, if you're going to glorify me, do so in a manner that involves _detail_. Likewise, if you want to condemn me to burn in whatever form of hell is your druther, be sure to give me something specific to stew on whilst I do thus. It's just so much more _fun_ that way.


End file.
